Special Weeks

Friday, January 7, 2011

#7 The Smell of Leaving

It's really a subtle smell. The main phrase is sad and blaming. We have no idea what happened, it's like post mortem lamentation in sarabande rhythm.

Listen to its very end: Do you hear the echo of the wail? These bloodless high tones? That's the only answer the wail gets, its own broken echo. After that–there's nothing. Two last bars, played pizzicato and piano, are just closing the door forever. The smell is in the air.